Zainab Bawa’s Blog

7 ^th September 2005

This evening I was at Nariman Point. As soon as I crossed the road and landed at Kilachand Chowk, I found an old Parsi woman and I decided to sit next to her. For some strange, unknown reason, I felt that she was the person to watch today. She was also drawn to me. She observed me carefully, up to down, down to up. She was fidgety. She kept looking at her watch as if she is waiting for someone. She would then look here and there and mumble something to herself. She was wearing a bright blue frock and two red bangles on each wrist.

I felt like chatting up with her. But I could not bring myself to initiate the conversation. She looked with a faint smile sometimes, but could not express it fully. Finally, she got up to leave. At that time, I was talking with someone on my mobile phone. She got up and brushed her frock. She straightened her frock from the back and began looking around carefully to see if she hadn’t dropped anything or left behind anything. She smiled at me, as if saying, “I just want to be sure, you understand nah?” I responded with a reassuring smile. She then left to cross the road.

I have seen some elderly persons similar to the Parsi woman of today, in local trains. The space of the local trains is different from that of the promenade. It might be easy to label this Parsi woman as senile or ‘crack’! But then, what in this world is normal and what is abnormal? Is masking more normal than being oneself? What conditions plague people in the urban set-up?

I watched people on the promenade. There were lots of familiar faces. The hawkers, the old man walking fast with short steps, the leashed dogs, Mr. Thakker, etc. Yesterday, at the railway station, I was feeling a bit lost because there were no familiar faces. Today, at the promenade, I felt a bit reassured!

Activity on the promenade was easy today. This was because of the uncertainty of rains I guess. There was constant lightening and thundering today. But the showers seemed elusive. As I was sitting, I noticed the private security guard at Kilachand Chowk tourist chowky come over with his bamboo rod. He began shoving away a gram seller hawker who was sitting on the promenade wall. “Get up from here, go away!” he started shouting at the hawker. The hawker stood up and began to go. People watched. I wondered, ‘are some people’s rights to a space more than those of others?’ ‘Is a public space about egalitarianism?’ ‘How does equality and inequality manifest itself in a public space?’

I walked down the promenade. The question hitting my mind was ‘how do people maintain personal space in a public space? What is the experience of space in a public space like the Marine Drive promenade?’ As I walked with these thoughts, I saw two men collide into each other. One of them was walking a wee bit carelessly from one side and he hit into another old man coming from the other side. The latter was upset and shouted at the man, “Bastard! Can’t see or what?” The former also uttered a ‘bastard’ abuse and walked away. Still thinking … how is personal space preserved and maintained in public space? What is the experience of space in a public space?

Finally, as I treaded back home, I wondered whether people had forgotten the Marine Drive rape incident. Their practices of space seemed pretty ‘normal’ or at least mine were – all about memory, normality, crowds, abnormality, urbanity and people – CONDITIONS!

zainab xanga

4 ^th September 2005

I have been very erratic with writing since the last few months. Illness had disabled me along with emotional ups-and-downs. For a while, it felt like I was not being spontaneous in writing. Writing was becoming an effort rather than the flow that it had always been. Breaking up with my boyfriend was another source of fear – all along, he played a major role in my writing, indirectly! Being in love with him was a source of honesty and simplicity which was what my writing was about. And even as I write the words “my writing”, I am completely aware that writing is a medium of expression. It is a gift of Providence to me. It is that gift which allows me to reach within while reaching out!

Sometimes tragedies and traumas happen so that we can learn. In my life, I have felt that tragedies and traumas occur because I get very comfortable with the routine and the familiar. It is when things get thrown up and about, shattered and spread, that it is time to come out of my comfort zone and recreate myself. Comfort is a situation of security and we dread coming out of our comfort zones – whether it be in our jobs, marriage, relationships or family! I have found that in my life, Providence has always thrown me out of my comfort zone, just when it was getting too comfortable! Once, when I was in Seoul , I happened to read the story of a Korean actress. One of the things which she had said was “When you hit the bottom and you are completely down, there is no way to go expect up!” And I have believed in these words ever since. Trauma and tragedy are experiences of strength of character. These are the episodes of life when we can each go beyond ourselves and become something more than what we were.

Today, after a span of nearly four months, a feeling of calm has descended on me. I am able to write because there is peace within. For a while now, I have been writing about city spaces, everyday life and people. This shall continue. But today, I want to express my gratitude to everyone – people I write about, people who read this blog, and the countless wonders and magic of universe which make up this writing. I am increasingly coming to believe that I shall always be taken care of and I shall never be hungry – because there is a value I bring to this world and love is a powerful force which brings people together.

I hope to continue writing with love, honesty and spiritedly!

Thank You!

zainab xanga